Thinkers Can't Be Choosers

This past Saturday night I found myself over my limit of think-a-hol once again. It was disconcerting, to say the least, when Angus shut me off before I was ready to go home.

The big old Scot, who is the ghost of a dead Scottish poet and the head bartender at the Lounge, saw that I was beside myself with embarrassment. He tried to make it up to me by offering the services of his limo and driver to take me home. I was so over my limit that I accepted. This also proved his point that I needed to be shut off.

Before the limo got very far, I fell asleep. When I woke up, this is what I saw from the back seat. I heard the driver say in a glib, matter-of-fact tone that he had to pick up something for Angus at his home before he dropped me off at mine. Then I fell asleep again.

To be continued...